Lepido Rangus, the gold medal winning tri-bi-athlete (tri-bi-athlon: the event in which the athlete rides a horse through 7 feet of water, then shoots it, then uses the gun to pole vault over a trench filled with boiling oil, culminating in the final stretch which involves carrying 2 buckets of pebbles across a wavering tightrope) was surprised to find his mansion in Islington filled to capacity after his win on Saturday.

Caption: Rangus and his horse, the late Fingle Root Basket Bunny Drawers

In a bid to draw attention to their cause, The Stormwanglers, the art group responsible for the recent demonstrations against the Olympics outside the Olympic village, have set up a squat in the sporting icon’s home.

Crispin Flintbiscuit, the leader of the unruly bunch currently disporting themselves in Rangus’s living room, made free with his tea, raiding his rigidly ordered ‘carbohydrates cupboard’.

Q: So why the party atmosphere? Previous demonstrations have been violent and unruly.

CF: Oh, there’s nothing more violent than arriving uninvited in someone’s home and taking up residence. Trust me, this will hit the establishment where it hurts. An Englishman’s home is his castle and all that…

LR: Excuse me, are you…are you one of them?

CF: Ignore him. Can’t you see we’re conducting an interview here?

LR: An interview? (Brightens slightly, his look of confusion clearing a bit.) Is it about my medal? I can show it to you. Well, I’m wearing it. (Smiles shyly, pulling medal out from shirt.)

CF: Witness this disgusting display of the elitist artefact! With our country in a recession…! It’s a crime against humanity! And anyway it’s horribly gauche.

LR: (Looking sad) I suppose so. Can I offer you some er…tea? I’m afraid I only keep skim milk.

CF: Get out of my sight you scion of the lumpen troglodytes!

LR retreats to his room.

Q: Why did you pick on him? Surely Chris Hoy or Victoria Pendleton…

LR: Have you seen Hoy’s house? It’s a disgrace. Barely room to swing a cat, never mind 17 people. Besides, he had security. Here, I have room to spread myself. Rangus keeps Egyptian linen.

(There is a pause as he considers the pleasures of LR’s luxury bed sheets.)

Q: (Clears throat suggestively)

CF: Oh yes, and also about the er…barbaric nature of sport, of course…

Q: His sport is controversial; after all, the shooting of the horse is a terrible…

CF: No, any sport. It’s a barbaric waste of human resources and endeavour. If we could plough all that effort into art, which benefits everyone in so many ways, especially our latest project which only needs a tiny infusion of cash…a mere £50000 to get it off the ground…

Q: You’re protesting that there isn’t enough money going into the arts?

CF: No, I’m protesting that there isn’t enough to go into MY art.

At this, the party gets even more raucous with Lepido Rangus, weakly protesting, being carried along by a swarm of demonstrators into another room.

CF: You should leave. There’s some bacchanalian shit about to go down.

And with that he slams the door on the media. Shortly afterwards the weekly paper News Curl received a ransom note of £50000 for the beleaguered athlete. However, as Rangus himself was spotted in the local Sainsbury’s shopping for supplies, it is said to be doubtful that anything will come of it.